Silent Help
by MiHnn
Summary: Written for the HP Canon Fest - Sometimes, all you can do is hold out your hand and hope that he will let you help him.


**Disclaimer : I do not own Harry Potter in any shape or form.**

**A/N - Thank you to Arnel for the beta job.  
><strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>Silent Help<span>**

.

Hermione stood still as she stared at the shop opposite her on Diagon Alley. Not something safe to do in the middle of the night, but she couldn't help it. She found herself reluctant to do what she came here to do. The shop looked just as it always did from the outside: colourful and whimsical, but for the lack of activity. Her last memory of the shop had been rambunctious. Sights, sounds, smells, and lots of it. Now it stood before her almost melancholy, all magical products no longer spouting out glitter or music. This shop, even in its present state brought back good memories. Memories of the absolute chaos that seemed to envelope the shop from the moment she stepped foot in it. Memories where her school mates laughed loud and hard at the newest inventions the twins had come up with. Memories of Fred and George taking the mickey out of Ron just for a laugh. She could always be sure to leave that shop light-hearted and happy, a broad smile across her face. But not today, not from now on.

Today was the first day she was going to step foot in to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes since Fred died; and she was scared. Part of her almost expected him to pop right out and say 'There you are, Hermione. Ron's trying to buy Cheating Quills again,' just for the heck of getting his little brother into trouble.

She had been standing on the cobble stone pavement opposite the shop for close to twenty minutes, her resolve to step into the joke shop leaving her with every breath. If she found it this hard to go into a building of a dear friend, she couldn't understand how Ron managed to do it. She couldn't help but respect the courage he had within him.

She was still staring at the darkened shop, changing her mind every two seconds when she saw the familiar sight of red hair through the window. The image was blurry, but she could make out Ron as he busied himself behind the cash counter, his tall form carrying boxes from the counter to the shelves.

Seeing him strengthened her resolve.

With a few confident steps Hermione crossed the alley quickly, only to falter when her hand reached for the door handle. Chastising herself for her childishness, she took a deep breath and opened the door, wincing when the bell sounded to notify her entrance. The sound seemed to echo ominously around the dark, empty store.

Ron looked up quickly only to falter at the sight of her. "Oh...Hey."

Hermione smiled lightly while she closed the door behind her. "Hey."

She looked at him cautiously while he moved from one foot to the other uncomfortably. After a few awkward moments of silence, she decided to say something._ Anything._

"Harry told me you were here."

The name of their best friend seemed to have the effect of breaking the tension between them, if only slightly. "Er.. yeah. Told him I would be doing the inventory tonight."

Hermione's first impulse was to question him; why did he tell Harry and not her? Why hadn't he spoken to her since the funeral? Were they not still friends? Were they not going to discuss what happened between them during the Last Battle? Instead, she chose the safer, more neutral statement. "I haven't seen you in a while."

Ron shrugged, gesturing quickly to the store around them. "Been busy."

"For _three_ weeks?" she questioned incredulously, only to shut her mouth quickly when he looked at her. That had sounded harsh, and she hadn't intended for it to come out that way.

Before she could rectify the situation, Ron spoke. "It's not like I chose this," he mumbled sarcastically before he went back behind the counter. He promptly started going through the sweet boxes on the counter, taking notes while he placed them one on top of the other, ignoring her all the while.

The dismissal hurt. It was obvious that he wanted to be alone and part of her wanted to respect his wishes; but another more frustrated part of her made her walk towards the counter. "Ron..." She faltered, wondering how to voice the concern she was feeling without angering him. "I'm worried about you."

The old Ron would have looked up at her, called her barmy; but this Ron - who always looked tired and never smiled - simply kept his head low and continued to scratch the information into the parchment. "I'm fine," he said softly, his voice tight.

The ridiculousness of this situation nearly made her snort. "You're _not _fine. You're angry."

Almost like a snap, Ron flicked the quill away from him and stormed off from behind the counter, grabbing an apron that was lying on a pile of boxes and throwing it on quickly. "I'm not."

She ignored the fact that he was ignoring her and stormed after him. "You are." His response was to silently go about his work, throwing Wizard Wheezes products haphazardly into boxes. She knew he was doing this to distract himself and let her know that this conversation was over. But at the same time, he should know that she wouldn't give up that easily. "Harry and I are worried about you," she said desperately, hoping that their best friend's name would make him more open, like before; even if it is only for a moment. But the red-head just simply turned his back to her and continued his work in silence. "Your _family _is worried about you."

It was then that he stopped; a small, tired sigh escaping him.

Encouraged by this, she continued. "George sent me."

Maybe she had said the wrong thing, or in hindsight it might turn out to be the right thing. Whatever it was, his back stiffened almost like his anger was coiling itself inside him tightly, getting ready to snap. Hermione watched, part of her relieved but most of her terrified when he turned on her, his features twisted in a hurtful scowl. "George won't even step _foot _in to this bloody shop and _he _is worried about _me?_ That is absolute bollocks."

"Maybe," she said shakily, surprised by the darkness that had clouded his usually clear blue eyes. "But it's not only him."

"Oh?" he asked tightly, his eyes scrutinizing her carefully.

Hermione raised her head high, determined to get this out, knowing that she was right. "Molly says you're not eating, all you do is work and go home."

Ron shook his head, denying his mother's concerns.

"Ginny says that you're always mad, if they say or do the wrong thing, you go Filch on them."

"That was _one time_-"

"George told me that you no longer play Exploding Snap, that you brood to the side and wait."

"He's one to talk-"

"And Percy...Percy says that you're too busy looking after everyone and that you're not looking after yourself."

"So what?" he snapped. "I'm affected so 'let's send in the bloody cavalry'? He gestured to her.

Hermione stared at him, surprised by his outburst. "I-"

"Just so you know, Mum didn't even get _out _of the bleeding bed until four days ago, George has moved out of the room he shared with Fred and Percy can't even _look_ at anything Fred-related. And those tossers think that _I _need help? They can piss off for all I care." He made a move to leave, then changing his mind, he stalked angrily towards her, his heated gaze burning through to her. "On second thought, you can tell those high and mighty twits that if they're so bloody worried about me, they should have just looked after their own bloody-selves instead of getting me to do all their bloody work!" Ron's eyes widened the moment he finished his outburst, his expression conveying his surprise and most of all, hurt. Then there was a moment when he looked at her, regret in his eyes before he staggered back. "I got to go," he muttered distractedly as he pulled the apron over his head and chucked it away. Without another word, he walked straight to the door and let himself out.

Hermione stood there in silence, too surprised to call him back. She had thought they had been exaggerating when they said he was about to snap; that he was holding in his anger. She knew they wanted her to help him deal with his brother's death. But she doubted this was what any of them had in mind.

* * *

><p>With a deep sigh, Hermione opened the eighth box that happened to be right beside her. She hadn't moved for a while from her position on the floor, her legs crossed under her. For the past two hours she has been going through all the items that were in Weasley's Wizard Weezes while meticulously listing them down. She created her own system once she realized that she couldn't understand head or tail of what Ron had been going on about with those tiny pieces of parchment. He always had handwriting that only he could read. Years of looking over his homework didn't help much when certain letters looked like others and numbers were sometimes ineligible.<p>

Wiping the beads of sweat that had formed on her brow with the back of her hand, she leaned over the cardboard box to pull out another item that she hadn't seen before. It was a box full of figurines, all in the shape of animals. One by one, she picked them up, examining them carefully. She knew that there was nothing ordinary about the items in this joke shop, and her curiosity was piqued with every item that she hadn't come across. The very thought of her ignorance made her regret the moments when she had dragged Ron and Harry out of the shop by their sleeves when all they wanted to do was look around a bit more.

She was shaking the buffalo figurine, wondering if it would emit something unusual when she heard a familiar sound: the tingle of a bell. The thought of someone else entering the store caused her to jump in surprise, almost dropping the figurine, while her heart thudded in panic. Looking up, she sighed, happy to see the intruder. "Ron," Hermione breathed out in relief.

Ron looked at her carefully, taking in her dishevelled appearance with her dusty jeans and loose curls before his gaze took in the countless piles of joke shop items around her. "I saw the light on. I thought you might have forgotten to..." he trailed off. "What are you doing?"

She honestly thought he could guess what she was doing. "I'm doing the inventory."

"All by yourself?"

Hermione raised a perfectly proud eyebrow. "Yes, Ronald. You're not the only one who is good at making lists, you know."

He shifted awkwardly, his eyes falling on the stack of parchments beside her. "I know that."

"Good," she said sternly before she turned her attention back to the figurines. Hermione continued to go through each one, painfully aware that Ron's eyes hadn't left her form. She moved purposefully, determined not to let him know exactly how self-conscious he made her.

It took a while, but he finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry, about before. I didn't mean to lash out at you like that."

Giving up on the curious items, Hermione sent a small smile his way. "I know."

His returning smile seemed half-hearted and pained.

Determined not to dwell on his previous outburst, she picked up another figurine; this time a butterfly. "What does this _do_?"

"It's a dream catcher," Ron said helpfully as he stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets and looked around curiously; probably to assess exactly how much she had managed to do while he was absent.

"A dream catcher?" Hermione asked, startled. What an odd item to be called a dream catcher.

Ron shrugged. "It catches other people's dreams. While you sleep, you get to see what the other bloke in the same room is dreaming. It's a creepy little piece of magic, really. Fred-" he stopped suddenly, his features immediately taking on a passive look that she never had quite seen before.

Hermione waited patiently with baited breath, hoping that he would continue that sentence. He hadn't really spoken about any fond memories of Fred; focusing instead on his last moments during the Last Battle. She wanted him to move on; she wanted him to remember his brother for the mischievous trouble-maker that he was. Thinking about Fred as the person who was the cause of breaking his family's heart wasn't healthy. And it wasn't fair to Fred. Luckily, she didn't have to wait long for Ron to continue.

"Fred came up with it when he wanted to know what I dreamt about," Ron said quickly; almost as if saying it faster would make it hurt any less. "He always was a smarmy bugger when it came to me. George too. At least he was," he mumbled sadly. Then as quickly as he had walked in, he walked out.

This time, Hermione couldn't let him go so easily. "Ron! Wait!" She managed to catch up to him just as he stepped out on to the deserted street. "Where are you going?"

He sighed in defeat. "Home, Hermione. I've done all that I can. Bill and Charlie will come in a few days and they will take care of everything."

"But I thought..."

Ron shrugged, making his move to leave.

"Hang on." Probably against his better judgement, he stopped to look at her. "No one's asking you to do this alone."

"Right," he smiled humourlessly. "Which is why Mum and Dad piled this chore on me. Not Percy. Not George. And not even Ginny. Just _me_."

"They know you can handle it."

He narrowed his eyes at her, as if gearing up for a fight. "Can I?"

"_Yes_!" she said sincerely. "You can."

Ron simply shook his head, and Hermione - knowing that she was about to lose any hold she had over him - decided to try another tactic.

"There's only a few more boxes left. If we work together we should be done in an hour." Taking cautious steps towards him, she held out her hand. "Let me help you."

His gaze fell on her hand, reaching out and waiting for him to take the next step. An eternity seemed to pass before he finally made a move. With a small sigh, he took her hand in his tentatively. "I hate when you do that."

Hermione beamed at him. "Do what?"

"That Hermione thing where you guilt me into doing whatever you want."

"What can I say?" she said with a wide grin. "It's a gift."

"More like a bloody spell, I reckon."

Hermione stepped forward further, stopping when she had to crane her neck back to look at him. "Are you complaining?"

"Haven't had the nads to complain for years now, have I?" he said amidst a dry smirk.

Almost without a thought, she raised her hand to lightly place her palm against his cheek, her thumb moving gently against the red stubble on his skin. "Will you let me help you?" she asked softly, trying to convey that the question she asked had more than one layer to it, and that it was no joking matter.

Ron's smile fell as he looked at her seriously. "Only if you promise never to do that guilt thing again."

Hermione let out a light laugh. "That is not something I can promise." Leaning up on her toes, she pecked his lips lightly, not giving him enough of time to respond or deepen the kiss. She couldn't help letting out another small laugh when she saw his expression; the surprise and obvious interest that he couldn't hide behind those gorgeous blue eyes. "C'mon." Stepping back, she entwined her fingers amongst his. "We have a pile of things to inventory."

With a sheepish grin that reminded her so much of the old Ron, he followed her; his fingers squeezing hers like a silent 'thank you'.

.

**_The End._**


End file.
